


Plur

by momothesweet



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bracelets, Cat Ears, EDC (Electric Daisy Carnival), First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Rave, music festivals, not really but, some of the setters are performing artists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5808211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momothesweet/pseuds/momothesweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the last night of a three-day music festival containing nothing but EDM and neon, Kuroo meets a quiet, kitty-eared ravegoer who takes an interest in the kandi that decorate his arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plur

**Author's Note:**

> First fic of the new year~
> 
> Originally from my [AU a Day project from last July](http://shoujomomo.tumblr.com/post/124722254205/plur).
> 
> Please note that I've never actually been to EDC or a rave before and I just kind of played around with the idea.
> 
> And if you haven't already figured out:  
> kandi = bracelets often made with pony beads that ravers often exchange as a sign of friendliness  
> plur = stands for "peace, love, unity, respect." You'll see it in action here!

There’s a giant neon statue of a unicorn clad with shutter shades and flashing flowers. Quite literally, it looks like a rainbow took a shit on it and polished it with neon. It’s gaudy, outrageous, and one of the many other artworks made of steel wires and lights around the massive, open asphalt area. There are three stages, an artist on each stage blasting bass drops heavier than basses themselves in front of tens of thousands of people, each one of them getting lost in their own way as they let the synth beats and continuous rhythms consume their entire being with a sense of euphoria and existential release. At least, that’s how some people would describe this whole experience.

For rave buddies Kuroo and Bokuto, though, they’re just around to have fun, enjoy the music, and meet some good people.

On the outskirts of the crowd, where the unicorn stands tall and mighty amongst those who wish to find peace in electronic dance music, the two stretch their legs and arms after several hours of listening to several different artists performing hour-long sets. Kuroo lunges on the asphalt, stretching his calves and hamstrings while Bokuto opts for waking up his triceps, his elbow in the air as he pulls down. From another standpoint, it looks like two dudes flexing for the hell of it because those muscle shirts do a damn good job of living up to their name. It’s a no brainer that they get a few lookers. In reality, they’re trying to be smart about going all night and hoping they don’t wake up at four in the afternoon incredibly sore (and, if they’re being completely honest, to catch a few pretty eyes looking their way, as well). Luckily, it’s the last night of the festival, so even if they do wake up at four in the afternoon incredibly sore, they can take the time to tend to their aches. For now, however, they let the people stare and compliment their looks.

“I’m gonna get his number, Kuroo, just watch me,” Bokuto declares, switching to squatting. A few people whistle and title him the “owl bro” as they walk by. Bokuto preens proudly, grinning wide and flashing his teeth with a wink.

“DJ K-ji’s? No,” Kuroo says incredulously. The kandi that decorate the entirety of his forearms click and jingle as he rolls his shoulders. “Are you gonna crowdsurf to the front and make it clear that you look like the giant owl sculpture near the Cosmic Garden Stage?”

“I know a few guys who can get me to him.” He wipes the remaining sweat off his brow, using his arm mostly free of any beaded jewelry. Unlike Kuroo, Bokuto hasn’t had the luck of receiving as much kandi. He thinks it’s cheating, though; some of the bracelets Kuroo totes came from previous raves and festivals.

“You know, exchanging kandi with a group that looks like a group of crows does  _ not _ count as ‘knowing a few guys.’”

“Don’t be a downer, you dick!” Bokuto slaps him on the shoulder, a very minimal amount of pain as a result. “Look at your arms. Everyone and their grandmother plur’d with you. Is there anyone here who didn’t give you kandi?”

Kuroo shrugs. Never has he admitted around Bokuto that he’s good-looking. Unless he was looking to get punched in the face, he would never tell him. More times than not, Kuroo actually feels pretty neutral about his looks. His hair is always a goddamned mess, and he has no idea how it has managed to stay “wild and edgy” after being around thousands of other people jumping and sweating like their lives depended on it. Isn’t density a thing? Does it even work that way? He doesn’t have the time to think about that.

As a joke, he looks around, spotting the people who have exchanged a bracelet or two (or five, in some drunken cases) in the last two nights. There’s tulle and flowers and high socks and even more neon around him. Ravers stop at nothing to show off their creativity, and Kuroo can appreciate that. He’s just not one to put all the effort into an outfit. His scan nears a close, and he’s ready to smirk at Bokuto and tell him “It’s hard to tell when so many people have given you something.”

But he freezes.

Away from the stages and the neon lights and the slurries of sweaty people screaming the only three lines of electronic dance songs, Kuroo spots someone at a table near the concessions, alone and on his phone. The lights around the area are dimmer, softer and more orange-yellow than brighter-than-sunshine blue or pink or green. With that light, Kuroo can’t see the entirety of the person’s face, but he does spot kitty ears, a crop top, and a tutu. No tail, though. Kuroo’s answer he’s supposed to give Bokuto is amended.

“That guy,” he says in the direction he’s looking, “the one who looks like a cat. He hasn’t plur’d with me.”

Bokuto looks over Kuroo’s shoulder, standing on his toes as if making himself several centimeters taller will help with his vision (it doesn’t). “The tall one?”

He checks out the other person in the same vicinity as the the one he’s talking about. The guy is incredibly lanky, and from what he can see he  _ does _ look like a cat, but he isn’t dressed like one. “No, you idiot,” Kuroo retorts, “the one with the ears! On his phone, at the table.”

A beat passes, and Bokuto nods in approval, slapping Kuroo’s back this time. “Hey, hey, hey~ is it the tutu that’s doin’ it for you?”

“What? Shut up.” He slaps him back on the shoulder. A dramatic cry of pain follows. Kuroo shakes his head and folds his arms, keeping his eyes on the kitty-eared individual a few hundred feet away from him. He’s not doing much, which makes him all the more interesting. Everyone else around him is recharging via overpriced drinks or junk food with the company of a few other people. The tall one Bokuto mentioned looks like he’s trying to coax the guy into coming with him, but he gives up and presumably runs off to a stage. Kuroo huffs, and curls his lips up to a sly grin. “Bokuto, why don’t you try getting K-Ji’s number...and I’m gonna try getting Kitty Ears’ over there?”

“You’re not coming?”

He shakes his head. “It looks like this guy doesn’t wanna move. I can find you later. Are you gonna be with that crow group again?”

“Uh huh! The short one with orange hair carries the totem.”

“It’d be more helpful if you remind me what their totem looks like.”

Bokuto groans, and bounces on his heels in frustration. “Dude, it’s of a huge crow and it says ‘Fly.’ It’s kind of hard to miss.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll see you later.”

The two of them bump fists and wish each other good luck before parting ways. Bokuto heads off to the Neon Meadow Stage, where the stoic DJ K-Ji skillfully uses his fingers to create a keyboard-driven, intoxicating experience for his listeners. Kuroo has his doubts about his friend nabbing such a prominent artist’s number, or a even just a glance, but he never knows how this night will end for either of them.

He approaches the concession area with caution, strolling past drunk ravers and tripping ravers and ravers who are likely a little bit of both. By the time he gets to the table, Kitty Ears doesn’t bat an eyelash up in his direction. Now that Kuroo’s closer and surrounded by the lights that aren’t as harsh, he can see golden eyes glued to the light of the phone. His black ears match the roots of his hair, which is otherwise dyed blonde. The tutu is red and puffy and a nice complement to his black crop top.

“Hey there,” Kuroo greets warmly, “are you not gonna see DJ K-Ji?”

“No,” he answers. He doesn’t look up from his phone.

Kuroo raises his eyebrows. “What about Sweet Suga?”

He shakes his head.

“Iwaizumi Hajime? I hear you can see him flex when he uses the turn tables.”

“Mm-nh.”

Upon taking the little bit of time to get to know Kitty Ears—or, rather, attempt to get to know Kitty Ears—Kuroo sits there, bewildered at someone dressed up  _ looking _ like they’re going to enjoy the fun the festival has to offer, but instead  _ acting _ like whatever is on his phone is much more interesting. Did someone just drag him here and make him throw on some kitty ears and a tutu? Probably.

“I can imagine this wasn’t your choice to be here, then.”

He shakes his head again. Bingo.

“So what gives?”

“My... _ friend _ forced me here,” Kitty Ears replies, hesitating at the word “friend.” Kuroo snickers at that. “His boyfriend couldn’t come anymore and he made me wear this.”

“Your friend’s got some good taste, then, because you look awfully cute.”

At last, Kuroo witnesses a blush that tints Kitty Ears’ cheeks, and he finally gets him to tear his eyes away from his phone to look in another direction. He’s still not looking at Kuroo, but it’s a start. The fact that the guy hasn’t told Kuroo to fuck off is also a good sign. Not that Kuroo is being creepy. At least, he hopes he isn’t. He’s just admiring how petite and adorable he looks as a cat ready to rave, even if he isn’t going to actually rave. Or is he?

“You must have at least seen one artist in the time you’ve been here,” Kuroo continues. “Did you spend your whole time sitting here?”

Kitty Ears doesn’t answer his question; instead, he makes the briefest of eye contact with Kuroo, which makes his eyes widen and his heart beat a little louder. His gaze diverts down to his arms. The sight of that much kandi apparently makes an apathetic raver put his phone down to look in awe. “So many…”

“Yeah,” Kuroo laughs sheepishly, but shows off his forearms anyway with the ridiculous amount of bracelets and charms he’s collected. “I like getting them. It’s fun. You meet lots of nice people when you plur.”

Kitty Ears looks back up, more curious and not withdrawn. “Plur?”

He nods, and the curiosity sparks what’s probably the best idea to get to know Kitty Ears, cute and shy and intriguing, with bare arms that could use some kandi. “Do you want to learn how it works? Which one of these do you want?”

Kitty Ears hesitates, and shakes his head. “No,” he says softly, “I can’t—”

“Of course you can!” Kuroo interrupts, “That’s what this whole experience is about. If you don’t want to listen to the music, you could at least participate in the bonds that people make when they dance and sing and exchange kandi. Take the music out and you get this culture of bonding without judgement and nothing but love and respect for each other.”

Perhaps his little rant struck a chord with Kitty Ears, because he stares at Kuroo. Except, it isn’t in awe. It...almost looks like embarrassment. Kuroo frowns.

“Dramatic,” Kitty Ears says, looking back down at Kuroo’s arms. Kuroo watches his gaze, and it doesn’t budge when it locks on a bracelet with a tiny black cat charm, red and white beads alternating around it. “Fine.”

He beams. “Okay! Hold out a peace sign.”

Kitty Ears’ face turns up and does as he’s told, holding it up towards his face. Kuroo falters at the incredibly cute look; it’s hard to resist someone in ears holding up a peace sign. He gently takes his wrist to bring his hand closer to Kuroo’s, and the tips of their peace sign fingers touch. “There. That’s peace. Now, curl your fingers like this to complete the heart.”

It’s as if he wants to break away and hide his face from blushing, but he does so again, curling his fingers so that his nail beds graze Kuroo’s, and the tip of his thumb touches his.

“Nice. That’s love. Now take my hand for unity.”

Kitty Ears’ head pops up to turn his attention away from their hands to Kuroo’s face. “I…”

“It’s alright, it’s not like I’m going to hurt you,” Kuroo says, smiling and being as sincere as he can. “You’re among a friend.”

He lets those words sink in, and Kuroo could swear he can see a smile on his face when he interlaces his fingers with his. Kitty Ears has small, soft, and slender fingers compared to his. They’re pretty warm, too.

“Alright...and then, respect.”

Kitty Ears trembles when Kuroo transfers the cat bracelet over their hands and onto his wrist. Kuroo lets go (although, he doesn’t exactly want to), and lets the other feel the little piece of jewelry around him.

“Troublesome,” he mumbles, though he can’t seem to take his eyes off the charm.

“Sure it is,” Kuroo laughs, “but it’s still fun. Oh—one last thing. Normally, people hug and stuff after plurring.”

Kitty Ears is ready to go back to his phone but shoots him a worried look.

“We don’t have to,” he reassures, “but hey! You’ve plur’d now. Yay~”

There’s that smile Kuroo swore he saw earlier. It’s a good look on him. Not that looking down at his phone doing whatever isn’t, but it makes the lights around them seem even more dim, as cheesy as that sounds. He’s definitely going to tell that to Bokuto. Maybe that’ll work with K-Ji, if he can manage to get close to him.

Kitty Ears is about to turn his phone back on, when he puts it back down to spot another bracelet on Kuroo’s other arm. It’s a cuff, with a pattern Kuroo could never make out. It was probably just supposed to be a random array of colors, but he can’t tell.

“Would you like this one, too?” he asks. He starts to slide it up his arm, thinking that Kitty Ears would just appreciate having another piece to decorate his arms. But he shakes his head.

Kitty Ears holds up a peace sign. And Kuroo smiles.

 

They plur for so long, the hand motions feel like second nature and Kuroo forgets that he wanted to see one of the secret sets Bokuto hasn’t shut up about since the start of the third night. Instead, he learns that Kitty Ears’ name is Kenma (he took the kandi cuff that made out a “K” in blue beads). Kenma thinks EDM in general is too loud, but when he starts to list a few artists he’s tolerated here and outside the lot, Kuroo figures out that he has a palette for deep house music. It suits him, since the genre isn’t as jarring or cacaphonic to the ears as other artists. 

“Some of those guys you mentioned were here the last two days,” Kuroo says. “They were pretty good.”

“Oh…” Kenma sounds almost disappointed that he didn’t get to go the first two nights. “Too many people, though.”  
“I get it.” 

He also finds out that Kenma has a friend in the crow group, who has also tried to convince him to come and dance (and also failed). His friend from earlier, Lev, is often and not surprisingly a landmark because he’s so tall. The tutu is actually kind of comfortable, and the whole night he’s just been responding to texts from his crow friend and playing a game involving slaying multiple dragons.

And, the most important fact Kuroo learns the whole night of getting to know him—Kenma’s single.

“How’s someone as cute as you still single?” he asks, genuinely curious.

Kenma turns red and slides over another bracelet, all black with a single red bead. “You talk too much.”

Kuroo laughs.

The sun cracks over the horizon. Kuroo realizes that he’s given almost half his kandi to Kenma after feeling a significant weight off his arms. The music around them has died down some, and lights are beginning to be replaced by the warm glow of the sun. While Kuroo didn’t get to rave and hang out with a bunch of other people as planned, he was more than glad to get to know kitty-eared Kenma. He grins at him, “Look at you. Now you look like a real raver.”

“Stop,” Kenma huffs, standing and beginning to walk slowly to one of the stages. “I should go find Lev.”

Kuroo does the same. “I gotta go find my friend, too. He said he was going to get DJ K-Ji’s number and I have no clue—huh?”

He’s interrupted when Kenma holds out his phone to him. His cheeks are tinted pink again and he’s pouting. Kuroo looks at the phone more closely and finds a blank contact form to fill out. Gently, he takes Kenma’s phone and enters his information, and hands it back to him once he’s done. The last thing Kenma does before running to a jumping string bean calling his name is stand on his toes to kiss Kuroo on the nose, light as a feather. His face burns red and he stands frozen in the middle of a crowd stumbling and slurring out to one of the several exits, until Bokuto very loudly laments to him from behind.

“I COULDN’T DO IT!” He takes Kuroo by the shoulders and shakes him. “Hinata lied to meeeeee~!”

It takes him a moment to answer Bokuto, letting the tiny little tingle on his nose settle into his skin and make his heart practically explode with joy. A little vibration in his pocket breaks the spell, and he pulls out his phone to find a “hi” text from a number he hasn’t entered yet. He grins.

“Kuroo! Earth to Kuroo! Did you hear my dilemma? I didn’t get K-Ji’s number and I need comfort!”

“Sorry,” Kuroo tells him, still in a daze, “I got Kenma’s number, though.”

“Kenma? Who’s he?”

“Kitty Ears.”

“Well, that’s  _ great _ for you, but what about—dude, what happened to all your kandi?”

Kuroo doesn’t reply, and he keeps his grin glued to his face as he and Bokuto begin to head out and end their close-to-perfect night under the electric sky.

**Author's Note:**

> One of these days when I'm not broke I'll go to one of these raves
> 
> Thanks for reading ^^


End file.
